


Charging Him Up

by abstractconcept



Series: Out of His Head Universe [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, CIM, Cross-Generation Relationship, Crossgen, D/s, Established Relationship, Fellatio, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Toys, Violet Wand, crossgenerational relationship, electric play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matty is frustrated with his bad luck. He asks Patrick to do dirtybadwrong things to him in order to release that frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charging Him Up

**Author's Note:**

> For the trope bingo square "Locked In." Beta: Amethyst_Hunter <3 and all further mistakes are mine, all mine!
> 
> Holy mother of id-fic, this is pure, utter filth. You might read this as having consent issues just due to the coach/player dynamic. This could be read as a follow-up to Out of His Head. 
> 
> Basically, my hockey superstition is that when I write porn on game nights, we win. So I just porned as hard as I could, and we won. Tonight I will be working on a Roy/Duchene/Landeskog threesome. Maybe double penetration will earn Matty a goal? ;D Also, feel free to friend me on LJ (the_con_cept) and ask to be friended if you're into hockey, and I also have a tumblr (abstractconcept1) where I blog and reblog lots of hockey. 
> 
> Don’t know if the French is correct; feel free to correct me if it’s not! I did my best. I tried to research it but apparently that doesn't count as writing porn in the eyes of the hockey gods, because when I was doing that the other team scored. :( So I stopped and tried to massage it later.
> 
> Sorry about posting twice; A03 fucked up the order and would NOT let me edit, so I had to remove and repost.

****

Charging Him Up ****  


Practice was going badly. Nothing was going in. Matt heard the ping of the puck hitting the post _three times_. He was better than this. What the fuck was his problem? Matt could feel the frustration build, ready to bubble over. He took one last shot at the end—wide. Just wide. Matt flung his stick down on the ice. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” He spun to search out Patrick, to catch the man’s eye.

Patrick just watched him impassively. He didn’t say anything to Matt as the other guys left the ice and went to change. He just stood back and let Matt pass. Patrick had been building him up a lot, lately, telling him he was doing better day by day. Now the man was obviously done talking, and he didn’t approach Matt after the disastrous practice. 

It was clear that it would be up to Matt to come to him.

oOoOoOo

Matt waited until he’d run a few errands before going to Patrick. He wasn’t putting it off, exactly. He was just trying to calm down first. Eventually he had to give up on this idea. The tension was just unbearable, his anger and fears and anxiety all percolating just under his skin. He had to do something.

Finally, he tracked down Patrick at home. The man was waiting on the couch, doing absolutely nothing, when Matt unlocked the door and stood there in the front doorway. The coach raised his eyebrows expectantly, but he did not say one word. He just waited, calm and silent. Matt hated that. With so much anger itching inside, it was offensive that anyone else could be cool and collected around him. 

After several deep breaths, he shut the door behind him and walked up to Patrick. “I need it,” he ground out. 

Patrick arched a brow.

“ _Please_.”

The man nodded. “Go upstairs,” he ordered. When Matt just looked at him, he grinned. “I got a couple of things to do, so you can just run up and get ready. Assume the position,” he suggested, eyes laughing. His cavalier attitude about the whole thing just pissed Matt off even more. Did the man have any idea?

Still, Matt kept his mouth shut and stomped upstairs. He passed through the bedroom and rummaged in Patrick’s bedside table for the key to the ‘other’ room. The room was dark, and that helped for some reason. He slowly undressed and folded his clothes and set them aside. He got out the leather wrist cuffs and buckled them on his wrists and ankles. Patrick would decide what, if anything to hook them on later. He slipped on the thick leather collar and set the leash out, too, just in case. 

Then, he went and knelt on the floor and waited. This was part of it; he had to be good. The point was that Patrick didn’t _have_ to use restraints. He did what he was told. He was obedient. He gave up that control. Usually, it helped. Today, it sort of rankled. 

It took about a quarter of an hour for Patrick to amble upstairs. He was carrying a wooden box. “You being a good boy?” he asked. 

“What the hell took you so long?” Matt snapped, unable to help himself. 

Patrick looked surprised, but also slightly amused. “Someone’s in a mood, eh?” He set the box down. “Well, we fix that,” he added with a shrug. “Come on, then. Up and on the scaffold.”

Matt got up and walked over to the wooden construction. He held his hands up on either side of this head and looked at Patrick expectantly. 

“Nah, I think we better start with the gag today,” Patrick told him dryly. He didn’t really use a gag, though; he chose a bit and put it between Matt’s teeth. That was fine, because Matt _was_ feeling a bit like a willful horse today. And even the act of Patrick shoving it in his mouth helped in some weird way. His temper was becoming someone else’s problem, and he liked that. 

Then Patrick fastened one wrist, and then the other to the scaffolding. He spread Matt’s feet wide and affixed them in place as well, going about the whole thing with a brisk, business-like efficiency. “There. Now we have some fun,” he said, clapping his hands together. He went over to the box he’d brought in and opened it up. 

“What the hell’sh that?” Matt asked, words slightly distorted by the bit in his mouth. The thing looked a little bit like a turn of the century torture device, but that didn’t much alarm him, because most stuff they played with looked similar. 

“Violet wand,” Patrick said shortly. He went and found an outlet and plugged the thing in, and a buzzing sound filled the room. Matt caught the faint scent of a thunderstorm.

“Ohshit,” Matt muttered. 

“Be good, Matty,” Patrick warned. 

“Yesshir,” Matty replied. He swallowed, a little out of nervousness and a little because he was starting to drool around the bit as he tried to talk around it. 

“Not going to hurt you,” Patrick assured him. “Tried it myself.” As if to demonstrate this, he touched it himself and grinned at whatever sensation it gave him.  
Matty relaxed. 

“Ready?”

Matt nodded, and Patrick stepped forward and gently, almost gingerly, brushed the glass tube down Matty’s arm. Matt grunted in surprise. It really didn’t hurt; it just tingled. Patrick was watching him closely, and he blushed a little. Weirdly, the embarrassment was less from being hung naked in front of the man and more from being looked at like he was a child who might not be able to handle a little spark. “Doeshn’t hurt,” he grunted around the bit. 

Patrick grinned. “I could make it hurt if you want it,” he teased. But he didn’t; he calmly and slowly began stroking the wand over Matty’s twitching body, ignoring Matt’s whimpers of pleasure. He would obviously do this in his own time. 

Matty groaned as Patrick tickled the wand over a nipple; it felt like seltzer water bubbling over his skin. The wand dipped, trailing lazily over his belly, and Matt could feel the skin twitching pleasurably. 

“You like that, Dutchy?” Patrick asked, eyebrows high. He looked so damn smug. 

Matt huffed, refusing to give a response. 

“I see we still feeling pretty bratty,” Patrick said. “I could punish you,” he pointed out. He ran the wand up and down, up and down Matty’s torso, then trailed it down the inside of his thigh, raising gooseflesh. “Maybe make you want it real bad and not give it to you. Or I could turn the amp up for you.” This he did; when he raked it over Matty’s ribs it crackled and stung. 

Matt found he was breathing heavily; the anticipation of the spark was much worse—or better—than the spark itself, leaving him jittery. He felt exposed and edgy, and started every time the snap of electricity nipped at his abdomen or hip. 

Grinning, Patrick turned the wattage back down. “Goal is to make you _less_ uptight,” he noted wryly. 

Now it was back to something wholly enjoyable, if maybe a little too light. Matt trembled as Patrick smoothly stroked his prick; the sensation was unbelievable. He whimpered a little. 

“That good?”

Matt shivered. 

“Oh, you are a bad boy today,” Patrick said with a sigh. He went over to the box and switched out the rod for something new; it looked a bit like a comb made of glass. Matty grunted as Patrick raked it down his body. The spark was much more intense. “Bit sharper, eh?” he asked, pulling it back. He stepped to the side and slid the wand down; the sparks bit Matt’s thigh, his hip, and his ass. 

Matt startled. It hurt. He bit down hard on the bit as Patrick applied it again, sparks leaping and snapping against his ass. Matt grunted, slamming his eyes shut. 

“This all up to you,” Patrick told him. “I can do this all night.”

He applied it again, and again, and every time, Matt’s whole body clenched at the sting. His ass was smarting. Patrick began to apply the wand in other places—over his ribs, his stomach, his thigh. When he applied the crackling flow to the inside of Matty’s thigh, Matty cried out softly.

“Ready to be good?” He smiled as Matty squirmed and whimpered at the pain. The sizzle and buzz moved along his thighs and hips and up and down his butt again and again as Matty writhed, hating the pain and wanting more of it in equal measure. Finally a particularly strong zap made him catch his breath. He convulsed, then sagged in his bonds. 

“I’m shorry,” he groaned. “I’ll be good.” He let out a long, quavering breath. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Dutchy. I knew you would get there. There’s my good boy. “ Patrick stroked a hand through his hair like he was petting a dog. “That’s a good little hockey player. Need a little more obedience out of you, a little less mouth. Don’t know what your problem is, but you gotta stop with the attitude.” Patrick switched out the rods again and began to swirl the wand around the head of Matty’s penis. “Next time you talk back at me I’m gonna bench you and then you will be sorry. Eh? You don’t want to sit on the bench, do you, Matty? I hate to do that, waste of a damn good forward. But you been much too angry lately, don’t help you or anyone else on the team.” Patrick looked at him through narrow eyes, cat’s eyes, those sharp, sharp eyes that never missed a thing on the ice. Now they were wholly focused on Matt, on the reactions of his body. “You could be great, the best player, if you just listen to your coach and _do what I say_.” The wand fizzed over Matt’s balls, drawing a long, whimpery noise of yearning. “You don’t do what I say, you don’t last, you hear me?”

To his humiliation, Matt was starting to cry. The sensations were all just too much to handle, coupled with Patrick nonchalantly talking about cutting his time—he was starting to crumble. 

“You got to behave for me,” Patrick continued. “You going to do that? If I’m nice to you, you going to be nice back? Hmmm? If I take out the gag, you going to suck me, eh, with that pretty mouth of yours?”

Matty let out a soft, incoherent little sob. 

Patrick stopped using the wand directly on him; instead he did something weird, where he was holding the wand but the current was going _through_ him. He ran his hand over Matt’s chest, fingertips trailing a funny sort of effervescence along Matt’s flesh. He reached up to cup Matt’s chin, ran a tingly finger along his jaw as Matt gasped. He brushed a fizzy-feeling hand over Matt’s overheated cheek. 

“You doing okay?”

Matt nodded hard, beyond embarrassment at this point, beyond thought. He gave in to the desire to stop worrying and just relish the feeling of the current along his over-sensitive skin. “More,” he moaned. 

Patrick leaned over and kissed his cheek, a funny feeling with the slight buzz that was more than the usual stubble-kisses he got from Patrick. “You do what I say?” Patrick asked. 

Matt nodded. 

“You be a good boy now?” 

“Yesh,” Matt huffed. He sagged against his bonds and Patrick smiled benevolently. 

“Okay, then.” He went and put the wand down, then came and unclasped Matty’s bonds. “You go on the horse.” Matty went obediently and draped himself over the horse. “Hands to the floor,” Patrick ordered, and Matty gave a shudder. He knew he wasn’t supposed to move from that position, but now he was so overwhelmed with need that it would take all he had to obey. Patrick smiled, stroking his back. The electricity rippled along the small of his back; Matt gasped, twitching involuntarily. 

“I can’t,” he grunted. The feel of something against such a vulnerable area was just too much; his body reacted on its own, trying to squirm away each time Patrick touched him. He couldn’t stand the idea of something touching him there, where he couldn’t see it. 

“That's . . . not an acceptable answer,” Patrick said, his voice almost cold. He was going to push this to the absolute limit. 

Matt glared ferociously at the floor. Each time the tingle connected with his flesh his hands curled into claws. He couldn’t stand it. He _couldn’t._ From the corner of his eye he could see Patrick’s form; the man was watching him intently. 

“Come on, Matty,” he crooned. “You can do this.”

“Can’t,” Matt mumbled. But still, somehow, he did, his entire body stiff, twitching, trembling. He curled his hands into fists, thinking of absolutely nothing except the necessity of keeping them pressed to the floor. 

“You are,” Patrick pointed out. “You are doing this. So the _can’t_ is just a lie.”

Matt whimpered. 

Patrick stopped touching him on his back; he tousled Matt’s hair. “Matty, you’re doing so good,” he purred. “My good boy. Mon bébé.”

Matt let out a long breath through his nose, savoring the praise. 

Patrick continued to pet him, long, gentle strokes that sent warm waves over Matt’s body. “You see how good this can be when you just make me happy? You just be good for me. It’s so easy.” 

Matt was becoming relaxed; he was still incredibly turned on, but the angry tension was seeping away from his muscles, leaving only a languid desire to be cosseted and cuddled—and fucked. “Want more,” he mumbled.

“Yeah? You get it when I want to give it to you,” Patrick responded. “You be good, I make you feel good.”

“I’m being good,” Matt replied without even thinking.

Patrick laughed. “Yes, you being pretty good,” he agreed. “Maybe you earn a little bit more,” he speculated. “What you think, Dutchy?”

Matt looked up hazily. He didn’t know what the man was talking about, but it no longer mattered. He was feeling right and good, and he no longer had to do anything. Patrick had this. He could let go. This was what he had wanted, what only Patrick could give him.

He barely noticed that Patrick was walking away, leaving him draped over the wooden horse, almost insensate. When the man returned (how much later Matt wouldn’t have been able to say) he was holding something new; a slender glass rod that glowed blue. 

Patrick knelt beside him, still fiddling with the thing. “Now we try something new. I think you gonna like this.” Matty just watched, confused, as Patrick proceeded to put a condom over the rod and began to lube it. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Gonna be inside you.”

Matt stared at the thing, intrigued. He should have been apprehensive, but he wasn’t. In fact, he couldn’t imagine being hornier than he was right now. His balls ached; he was sure he could come just picturing that thing entering his body. 

Patrick was smirking now, knowing exactly the effect he was having. “Don’t you even think about it.” 

Matt cursed his mind-reading abilities. “So unfair,” he said. 

Patrick laughed. Then he reached back and spread Matt’s cheeks. “So cute back here,” he commented. “Liking this part of you more than your sassy mouth these days,” he joked. He slipped the rod into Matty’s body.

Matt jerked a little. “ _Fuck_. It’sh _cold,_ ” he whined. 

“Hahah, I know, I could not resist that. Don’t worry; you heat it up fast.” He began to work the thing in and out of Matty’s ass. 

“Oh,” Matt whispered as he the felt warm tingle inside his body. “ _Ohhhhhhhh_.” 

“Yeah, I thought you like that,” Patrick commented with his usual cavalier smugness. “You happy with your coach, now? You eager to score him some goals? Want you to go out there and play for me tomorrow. Want you to show off for these other coaches, show them what I make from you. You do that for me?”

Matt moaned, nodding. “Yesh,” he agreed. Hell, goals, he’d do that if Patrick wanted. He’d do absolutely anything the man asked, up to and including murder, so long as he never, ever stopped making him feel this good. Matt rutted against the horse until Patrick slapped him lightly on the ass and ordered him to stop.

“Way too close to the edge for that,” the man commented. “Here.” He paused, standing, and unbuttoned his fly. Oh, wow, why was that so fucking arousing, watching Patrick take his prick out, already hard, wanting him, wanting _Matty?_

Then the man bent again, and undid the bit, withdrawing it from his mouth along with a thread of spittle. “You going to make me feel good, or is this all about you?”

Matt didn’t even need to be asked; the idea of sucking Patrick off was the most erotic fucking thing he could imagine. He opened his mouth, greedy for that plump cock. He didn’t notice the expression on Patrick’s face, but he heard the man moan as he slipped his cock between Matty’s lips. Matt’s eyes fell closed and he sucked the man’s cock, a weird feeling of something like serenity overcoming him. Everything was right with the world. 

“Oh fuck. That’s a good boy. Mon sucre d'orge,” Patrick muttered, fucking Matty’s mouth. “That’s it, Dutchy. You do it just like that.”

Matt ate it up—in every possible respect—feeling Patrick’s fingers card through his hair, one hand coming around to the back of his head, holding him in place so Patrick could thrust into his mouth. Matt gurgled a little, taking it as deeply as he could, craving more praise. 

Patrick groaned. “Dutchy, I dunno about hockey some days, but this you are skilled at. _Professionnelle,_ ” he teased. He stroked Matt’s cheek as he slipped in and out of his mouth. Matt looked up, trying to convey with his eyes his desire to beg for more approval—preferably in that fucking hot French that Patrick often lapsed into when he was losing control. 

Patrick grinned. He took Matty’s face in his hands, holding it gently as he thrust into his mouth. Matty hummed, making the man’s eyes slam shut; not so smug _now_ , Matty realized with a little thrill. How great was it to make the best goaltender who ever lived lose control like this? Matt kept his hands planted on the ground, but did whatever he could think with his tongue, pulling back to swirl it around the head of Patrick’s penis. 

“Much too good at this,” Patrick said huskily. “I’m going to shoot my wad, you keep this up. In your mouth. Je vais venir sur votre visage, Dutchy. On your face, eh? All over your pretty face, you like that?” 

Matty moaned. He was getting so hot; all he wanted was to touch himself now. He was going crazy for it. 

“Mon _trésor_ ,” Patrick murmured. “So close now. You give me what I want, I give it to you good. I make it good,” he promised. “You feel _so_ good when I’m done with you, mon ange. You won’t even be able to walk after, I tell you that for sure. And then tomorrow, you get up, you score for me, you pay me back on the ice, just like that.”

Matt wanted that—he wanted all of that. Patrick was fucking his mouth deeply now, making him gag, and Matty did his best to control it, to take as much as possible. 

“You doing so good,” Patrick noted. “Not one finger out of place, mon coeur, my sweet little Dutchy.” 

Matty whimpered at this, perfectly ready to come from the words alone. 

“We almost there, sweetheart,” Patrick swore. “You just give me a little more. You take this? Je jouis, Matty. You ready?” 

Matty pulled back enough to look Patrick full in the eyes. He’d practiced this. He had to do it right. He nervously licked his lips and stuttered only a little as he said, “D-Donne-moi ton foutre.” Patrick looked shocked at this, then a little impressed, then just plain pleased. Matty hummed and obediently closed his eyes, in case Patrick wanted to come on his face. Instead, the man urged him forward once more, until Matty gagged; Patrick held him in place for one long beat and Matt felt him throb against his tongue, and then he was reflexively swallowing again and again as Patrick climaxed, coming right down his throat, covering Matty in the most vulgar French the entire time, like the words needed to come hand-in-hand with the semen itself.

It didn’t really last very long before Patrick pulled back, allowing Matt breath, coming over his tongue. Patrick reached down, cupping Matt’s chin, holding his spurting prick against Matty’s slick lips. The man groaned, mumbling something in French, milking his cock into Matty’s open, eager mouth. 

Finally he finished, totally out of breath. He spent another few moments mumbling broken French, “Ça-va ça-vient,” Matty heard, and, “fumer le cigare,” and, “gueule.” Matty didn’t have any clue what the words meant, or how they were supposed to fit together, but he didn’t care and Patrick didn’t seem inclined to explain, either. The man shook his head, giving Matt an astonished smile. “I don’t know how you get so good with that. I know you don’t do that with anyone else. You just suck cock natural, you know? Mon bébé. Such a good boy,” he added, rubbing his thumb over Matt’s lower lip. 

Matt shivered, exulting in the knowledge that he’d pleased the coach in a way no other player ever could. 

“Now you ready for your turn?” the man asked, eyes twinkling. He looked tired, but very content. 

Matt nodded. “Yeah. _So_ ready.” 

Patrick picked up the wand again and began to fuck him with it, shoving it roughly inside Matty’s body. “You gonna love this,” he promised. “You don’t even know.”

Matt’s head sagged. “I already love it,” he groaned. 

“Not the way you will. You won’t even believe it,” Patrick told him. He watched Matty closely, obviously relishing each little eager noise the man made. “You like that?”

“Yes, please. Yes, I like it. It’s _so_ good,” Matt panted. He knew how much Patrick liked it when he responded, when he was vocal about his pleasure.

“Yeah, I know you do,” Patrick purred. “I know just what my baby want.”

Matty began rocking back against the rod, trying to get more. Patrick wasn’t lying; he’d never felt anything like this before; the buzz of electricity inside his own body, warm and fuzzy and slick. “Oh, god,” he cried. 

Patrick kissed the side of his mouth. “Come on, bébé. Show me. Here it come, bébé.” He worked the glass deep inside, causing sparks both literally and figuratively. He adjusted his grip, changed the angle and—

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Matt cried. He was coming, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his entire body shuddering as the tingle of the wand hit his prostate. He whimpered, grinding his teeth, eyes welling; Patrick had not oversold the experience. It really was the most amazing wave of pleasure, and he could do nothing but let it wash over him again and again. 

At some point he came back to himself to discover Patrick was stroking his back, chuckling softly and murmuring something in French. He blinked a little, dislodging a couple of tears still clinging to his eyelashes. “Holy shit,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Patrick said. 

“That was so . . . that was . . . you were _amazing_ ,” Matt croaked, looking up his coach worshipfully. 

Patrick beamed. “I work hard at it,” he said. “You commit to something, you get good results,” he added. “Every time. You earn every second of that good feeling, Dutchy,” he added. 

Matt felt confused until the man nodded to the floor. He looked down to see his own hands, still stubbornly glued to the floor even though he’d been in the same position for what felt like hours. “Oh, wow. Can I—can I get up, now?” he asked, blinking up at Patrick. 

“Yeah, you get up, now,” the man agreed. “We gonna have to tape your knuckles tomorrow.” Matt eased himself back on his haunches and stared at his hands in shock; his knuckles were bleeding in places where he’d scraped them on the floor. He even had a blister forming in one place. How had it happened without him even noticing? Patrick petted his sweaty head. “The great ones, they don’t even feel the pain,” he said. “Not when it matters.”

Matt looked up at him in wonder. “Thanks,” he choked out. “That was . . .” he shook his head. “Thank you.” It wasn’t just the sex, it was the lesson he was grateful for, but he knew Patrick got that.

“Yeah. Next time you hit that place, you go right on through. There is a . . .” Patrick scrunched up his face, hunting for the correct English to explain. “There is a place on the other side of that wall, a place outside frustration,” he said. “You know that now. You reach outside, you push past, you get what you want, I promise. I know you can do that, because . . .” he paused, smiling, reaching out to stroke Matt’s face. “Because you are mon coeur, my elite center. Okay, Dutchy?”

Matt laughed, partly out of giddy relief, but partly because of all the goofy things he needed, hearing Patrick call him that was at the absolute top of the list. “Yeah. I can do that now,” he promised. 

“Good.”

Matt let out a long sigh. “But I think I may have to stay on my hands and knees for a while longer.”

“Eh? Why?”

Matt smiled crookedly. “Because I don’t think I can walk.”

Patrick laughed. “I get you to the bedroom,” he said. “You can lean on me all the way.”

Best of all, Matt knew he really could.


End file.
